RENAISSANCE

19. Hesitation

Above my head.

The bullet had just grazed the top of my hair and lodged in the wall behind me. And I didn't move or blink. But my ears were ringing.

Isaac Turner had just missed his target.

I had seen it, and I had even seen it very well: his arm had moved a few centimeters upwards at the last second, changing the trajectory of the ball. For what ?

My tears had dried on my cheeks, leaving an unpleasant feeling on my skin.

"Fuck you," he spat before charging straight at me.

And then, he brushed my shoulder and left the place, firmly slamming the door which made the walls vibrate as he passed. Sound of finality which marked the end of this explosive confrontation.

"DIE," I shouted, even though he couldn't hear me now.

My voice was trembling with anger and fear. I was mad at him. He's just an asshole.

I stood there, the echoes of the harsh words still echoing in the chilled air. The shards of the hurtful words still swirled in my mind.

The room seemed to keep the echo of cries and reproaches, freezing in time this confrontation of raw emotions. I could still feel the glare of his anger, his dark eyes filled with disappointment and frustration.

My hesitant steps approached the sofa, where I settled down on the cold leather.

Night silently enveloped the outside world, as if to remind me that darkness had also seeped into my heart after that trying day.

The workday had been exhausting, but the argument had added a new dimension to my fatigue. I felt shaken, as if a storm had swept away the tranquility of my being. I tried to push away the worries that tormented me, but they seemed to cling to me like elusive shadows.

The cold leather beneath my fingers seemed to take some of my energy with it, and yet I snuggled against the back of the couch for comfort. The weight of the day fell on my tired shoulders, and I let out a melancholy sigh. I didn't have the strength to go to my room.

My thoughts wandered between the regrets of the past and the uncertainties of the future.

The silence that reigned, broken only by the distant noise of the sleeping city, amplified the feeling of solitude that overwhelmed me. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the top of the building allowed me to observe the city from a different angle, but even this impressive view was tinged with sadness.

And the moon, so bright and peaceful, was a cruel irony for my soul.

°°°

I woke up in the morning, numb and shivering, on the sofa that had been my shelter during the night. The first shy rays of sunlight played through the curtains, trying to warm the room. Yet their gentle caress was not enough to dispel the cold that had seeped into my bones during my uncomfortable sleep.

My movements were slow and cautious, as if I feared breaking this morning fragility.

There was no noise in the apartment. No presence. He hadn't come back.

Around me, the rubble of our confrontation.

I huffed, and stood up painfully, enveloped in a bad aura that seemed to permeate the atmosphere around me.

I headed to the bathroom, feeling the cold tiles beneath my bare feet. The luxury walk-in shower stood there, majestic, but its splendor could not dispel the gloom that was gnawing at me.

The glass walls seemed to freeze my reflection, like a distorting mirror. The taps spewed out a trickle of cool water that fell heavily, like a frozen waterfall flowing over my skin. I half-heartedly ducked under the stream of water, letting the water pour over me for a long time.